


Red as Rust

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Breasts, Dancer Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dark Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, FE3H Kinkmeme, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Pregnancy Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Teen Pregnancy, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Trans Male Character, Underage Sex, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Sex, because Felix is 17, no beta we die like Glenn, rapist pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28542540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Feel good?” he breathes in the dancer’s ear. “Why don’t you call it a night, Fe? We can go back to my room, and I can give you a proper massage.”His questions are met with an elbow in the ribs that knocks the air from his lungs. Felix jerks away, calm as anything as he moves out of Sylvain’s reach. “No thanks.” He catches a hint of blush on the dancer’s cheeks as he stalks toward the weapon rack to return his sword.Anger curls in Sylvain’s stomach. Why did he always have to be so difficult? It wasn’t hard to see that he was just as into Sylvain, if his blushes at Sylvain’s advances and an overheard conversation between him and Ingrid were anything to judge by. Sylvain had done everything he could think of to get Felix to let go of whatever was holding him back, pulled out every move in his repertoire to woo him, but no no avail. He may as well have tried flirting with a brick wall.Sylvain’s patience is beginning to wear thin._____Sylvain's tired of taking no for an answer.Read the tags, people.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 61
Collections: Anonymous





	Red as Rust

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: 
> 
> Sorry this is dark LOL but Sylvain gets tired of his advances being rejected by Felix so ends up forcing himself on him and is really into the thought of getting Felix pregnant. Felix is humiliated and Sylvain treats him like he exists only to be bred.  
> \+ Felix still has boobs and Sylvain loves them/talks about how they'll get bigger when he's pregnant  
> \+ In a public place  
> +++++ Sylvain gives some manipulative, gentle after care  
> Any gender terms for Felix's junk are fine whatever you are comfortable with 👍 Also dubcon, consensual noncon instead are welcome  
> Any other kinks you wanna slap in just go for it, I'm just thirsty for Felix being bred
> 
> \-----
> 
> AFAB terms are used for Felix. This kind of toes the line between rape and dubcon, it's really a little bit of both. Sylvain is awful in this story.

_You take the shape of_

_everything that I’m drawn to,_

_but your eyes_

_are dead and red;_

_red as rust_

Devil, Devil by MILCK

Sylvain watches, back leaning against a column, arms crossed, as Felix twirl and spins, just a flash of dark hair, flowing silk cloth, and deadly silver steel. His movements are fluid as water, as graceful as they are lethal. The dancer’s silks cling to him perfectly, hugging every muscular curve and taut plane of his body. Sylvain can imagine how he would look if he would just unbind his breasts, how they would strain against the snug silk and bounce with every elegant, practiced pirouette.

There he was, looking so beautiful in the fading afternoon light, knowing full-well that Sylvain is there, that he’s watching with rapt attention. Focused on dancing as if his captive audience means nothing to him. Aloof.

What a fucking tease.

But he supposes that’s just Felix’s nature. Honestly, he wonders if Felix even realizes what he does to those around him, how his body draws awe-inspired eyes and doesn’t let go. Not even just Sylvain’s eyes; he’s noticed the way their classmates stare, perhaps a hair less openly as Sylvain. He’s caught the professor watching him with a rare blush on her cheeks, seen Seteth stop dead in his tracks to watch until an embarrassing bulge in his trousers sent him scurrying away. Everyone wants a piece of Felix.

But Sylvain is the one who’ll have him.

Felix’s dance comes to a stop, the long, flowing pieces of cloth falling still around his slender legs. Even with his back to Sylvain, he can see the way his chest heaves slightly from the exertion of his dance. He rolls his shoulders, tipping his head from side to side as he works out the stiff muscles of his neck.

“Do you plan to stare at me all night?” he barks, not even sparing Sylvain a glance.

Sylvain chuckles, unsticking himself from his spot and sauntering toward the dancer. “It would be a night well-spent,” he jokes, coming to a stop with just a few scant inches between them, so close he can smell the intoxicating mixture of clean, spicy soap and sweat on Felix’s skin. He plants his hands gently on Felix’s shoulders, kneading with his thumbs. “Though, I could think of a few better ways to spend the night.” He can practically feel the way Felix rolls his eyes, though he doesn’t shrug out from under Sylvain’s touch.

“I’m sure you could,” he snorts, finally starting to tug away. Sylvain doesn’t let go, pulls him back against his broad chest and rubs more intently at his shoulders. Felix’s breath hitches at his ministrations, and Sylvain can’t help grinning lightly.

“Feel good?” he breathes in the dancer’s ear. “Why don’t you call it a night, Fe? We can go back to my room, and I can give you a proper massage.”

His questions are met with an elbow in the ribs that knocks the air from his lungs. Felix jerks away, calm as anything as he moves out of Sylvain’s reach. “No thanks.” He catches a hint of blush on the dancer’s cheeks as he stalks toward the weapon rack to return his sword.

Anger curls in Sylvain’s stomach. Why did he always have to be so difficult? It wasn’t hard to see that he was just as into Sylvain, if his blushes at Sylvain’s advances and an overheard conversation between him and Ingrid were anything to judge by. Sylvain had done everything he could think of to get Felix to let go of whatever was holding him back, pulled out every move in his repertoire to woo him, but no no avail. He may as well have tried flirting with a brick wall.

Sylvain’s patience is beginning to wear thin.

He joins Felix by the weapon rack. Felix spares him a weary glance. That, at least, has always been a good sign. No matter no many times he shoots Sylvain down, he allows Sylvain in his space just like he always has, ever since they were children. Stamping down his frustration, Sylvain tries for a charming smile. “No need to be so aggressive, Fe. I just want to help you relax.”

“I don’t need your help,” he huffs, crossing his arms in that petulant way of his.

Sylvain leans in closer, close enough he can feel Felix’s breath, hot on his skin. The amber eyes he so loves fight to remain nonchalant, but his pupils are starting to swallow up the lovely color. “Need and want are two very different things.” Felix swallows, but he says nothing.

Sylvain takes it as an invitation to close the space between them.

Felix’s lips are soft under his, warm and plush, and he gasps in surprise, parting them enough for Sylvain to slip his tongue inside. He is insistent as his tongue explores this new territory, coaxing Felix’s tongue to move against his own.

It is Felix – of course – who breaks the kiss first, wrenching away from Sylvain after his moment of surprise has passed. Sylvain doesn’t give him a chance to dart away, however, grabbing him firmly by the backs of his toned thighs and hefting him up. Felix doesn’t try to free himself, grabbing on to Sylvain’s shoulders to steady himself in a moment of shock, and Sylvain uses that moment to press him against the wall.

His cheeks are delightfully pink as he stares at Sylvain in some mixture of indignation and what Sylvain guesses is arousal, pinned helplessly between Sylvain and the wall. Well, as helpless as Felix ever is, which is to say, not. If he wants to free himself, he will.

Instead, his legs wind around Sylvain’s hips, fingers still clenched tight in Sylvain’s shirt. “Put me down,” he demands, but there’s very little bite to it.

Sylvain just chuckles, leaning into to plant biting kisses to the pale column of his neck. He rolls his hips, grinding his quickly-hardening erection between Felix’s legs. Felix’s breath hitches, fingers tightening, nails dragging over Sylvain’s skin even through the fabric. “You’ve never been touched like this, have you, Fe?” he wonders, already knowing the answer, lapping teasingly at the lobe of his ear.

“Sylvain,” he sighs, starting to squirm in the lancer’s grasp, “put me down.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel really good.” He reclaims Felix’s lips before the dark-haired boy can say anything else. He lets his hands wander Felix’s body, all soft silk and hard muscle under his fingertips, swallowing each of the dancer’s restrained gasps and moans. He kneads at the plump flesh of his rear, giving a sharp slap for good measure that makes Felix squirm beautifully.

Trailing back up his body, Sylvain rucks up the undershirt, letting his fingers dance between the valleys of his abs, teasing at the edge of the binding that hides his breasts. Felix pulls his mouth away with a gasp. “Don’t,” he mutters, scrabbling uselessly at Sylvain’s wrists.

The binding falls to the floor anyway, and Felix’s lower lip trembles as Sylvain drinks in the sight bared before him.

“You’ve got such cute, little tits, Fe,” he coos, leaning down to nuzzle between them. They’re adorably small and pert, kind of like Lysithea’s, crowned with tiny pink nipples, hard with either arousal or the chill in the air. “Beautiful.” Sylvain laps at one of the stiff, little peaks, and Felix’s back arches.

“Stop, Sylvain,” Felix pleads, fingers tugging at his hair hard enough to sting. Sylvain sucks the bud into his mouth, suckling lightly on it. If Felix really wants him to stop, he won’t be so gentle about it – he knows the dancer is perfectly capable of kicking his ass six ways from Sunday. So he lavishes attention on his little tits, reveling in the sweet moans and gasps Felix rewards him with.

He reaches down their bodies, probing between Felix’s spread legs. The undershorts of the dancer’s silks are soaked through with his slick, and Sylvain teases at his clit through the wet cloth, drawing sobbing moans from Felix. His fingers still pull on Sylvain’s hair, though they draw him closer to him rather than try to tug him away. His hips cant against Sylvain, seeking more friction.

Sylvain is more than happy to oblige.

He drops Felix to his feet for just a moment, delighting at the whimper of loss that escapes the dancer’s lips, helping him shimmy his soaked undershorts down his muscular legs. “Sylvain,” he whines. “Not here…”

Sylvain kisses him. “No one comes out here this late but you,” he reminds him, already busy unlacing his trousers and shoving them down enough to let his cock spring free. It’s hard and leaking, and he’s eager to feel Felix’s tight walls clench around him.

With no further fanfare, Sylvain hefts Felix back up. His cock slips and slides against Felix’s wet cunt, punching a groan from both of them. It takes some positioning, but he manages to guide the head to Felix’s dripping hole.

Felix hisses, biting his lower lip, as Sylvain sheaths himself inside.

“Fuck, Fe, you’re so tight.”

He gasps as Sylvain begins rocking in and out, starting a gentle rhythm while the dancer adjusts to the stretch of his generous girth. Felix’s fingers dig into his shoulder blades as if he’s holding on for dear life, letting himself get fucked against the wall. One arm under Felix’s rear to support his weight, the other braced against the wall over Felix’s head, Sylvain picks up the pace.

The still night air is filled with the sounds of their mingled pants, a chorus of broken moans, and the slap of skin on skin. “That’s it, baby,” Sylvain coos in Felix’s ear. “You’re taking me so well. Feel so good around my cock.”

“Shut up,” Felix manages to pant out, head thrown back against the wall, eyes half-lidded in pleasure.

Sylvain, as usual, does not shut up. “Gonna fill you up with my cum, sweetheart.” He dips his head forward to trail feather-light kisses against Felix’s neck between his words. “You’re gonna be dripping with it.” The thought sends a thrill down his spine, and he smiles against Felix’s skin. “Maybe my seed will take root in your belly, Fe.”

“Stop,” Felix groans pitifully.

“You’d be so beautiful, round with my baby,” he muses, lips ghosting lower and lower until he was just over the slight swell of his breasts. “Your tits would grow, too. They’d be so big and sensitive, you wouldn’t be able to hide them anymore.” He sighs wistfully. “I’d love to just sit and play with them, make you squirm by teasing your nipples. Maybe you could even cum, just from that.”

“Sylvain, please.”

“Goddess,” he breathes, lost in his own fantasies, “you’d be gorgeous riding me with your stomach swollen and your tits bouncing. Doesn’t that sound nice, Fe?”

“Stop talking, please.”

Sylvain bites down on the supple flesh of Felix’s tit, not hard enough to break skin, just hard enough to draw a hiss from him. He snaps his hips harder, fucking into Felix in earnest. “This is what you were made for, Fe,” he growls low in his throat, voicing thoughts he’s barely even let himself entertain alone. “Just a bitch to be bred. All I’m good for is fucking an heir into you, and all you’re good for is taking it.”

He doesn’t look at Felix’s face, his own buried in the crook of the dancer’s neck. He can imagine it flushed, wrecked, streaked with tears. His moans are laced with sobs, but he still clings to Sylvain like the man is a life preserver. Or maybe he’s an anchor. Either way. Felix’s body tenses, so hard Sylvain thinks he might shatter. His pussy spasms sweetly around him as he cums, crying out Sylvain’s name.

Sylvain fucks him through it, groaning as he finds his own release, spending deep inside of Felix. They stay there, still and panting, both sticky with sweat and fluids. “Put me down,” Felix grunts after an eternity stretches between them. Sylvain obliges, gently lowering him to his feet, a swell of pride filling his chest at the way Felix’s legs buckle slightly once he’s supporting his own weight. He can just see the trickle of his spend running down those sculpted legs before Felix snatches up his undershorts and hastily yanks them up.

His hair is a mess, having come down from its bun at some point. Inky strands spill down around his shoulders, frame his face beautifully, and Sylvain tucks one softly behind his ear before he leans down to plant a tender kiss to his lips, red and bitten raw.

“Sorry if I freaked you out, saying some of that shit,” he mutters, lips still close enough they brush against Felix’s as he speaks. “I got a little carried away.”

“It’s fine.” His voice is gruff, hoarse. Another swell of pride; Felix’s moans wrecked his voice, and Sylvain had been the one to cause them.

“Let me make it up to you,” he insists. “I’ll make you some tea. And actually give you that massage.”

Felix is silent for a long moment, staring out somewhere beyond Sylvain. “Fine.” He lets Sylvain take his hand, lets him lead him back to his bedroom. He lights candles, casting the room in a low, warm glow. Felix sits quietly on the bed as the older boy sets to boiling the water with a small fire spell. The sharp aroma of a bitter tea that he knows Felix will like fills the room. He presents it triumphantly when it’s finished.

“One Almyran Pine for my beautiful dancer,” he says with a corny smile. “With a little something extra.” Felix arches an eyebrow. “It’s an herbal mixture from Manuela that’s meant to stop pregnancy.” Felix flushes furious, but he bows his head and gulps down the tea quickly, heedless of the scalding temperature.

Once the tea is done, he coaxes Felix to shed his outer layer of silken finery, letting it pool on the floor. Felix lays face-down on the bed and lets Sylvain work his hands over his sore, tired muscles. The redhead has been told by many that he’s excellent at giving massages, and judging by the sounds of contentment that Felix makes, he believes the dancer agrees.

And when he slowly bares Felix piece by piece and urges him onto his back, Felix lets his legs spread for Sylvain with a sigh.

~OoO~

“You lied to me, you bastard,” Felix grows, low and angry, letting his plate clatter to the table as he sinks down in the chair next to Sylvain. The lithe man is fuming, more angry than Sylvain has seen him in a long time.

Sylvain rubs the back of his neck. He certainly didn’t remember lying to Felix. “Gonna have to be a bit more specific about that, sweetheart.” Felix glares. “What did I lie about?”

Felix’s eyes dart around, making sure there’s no one focused on them before he leans in close. “You said that tea would…” His words cut of with a frustrated hiss. “That I wouldn’t…”

All Sylvain can do is blink as the words slowly piece together in his mind. “You mean…” He glances down. It’s been over a moon since that night, and while they’ve been together since then, he’s never let Sylvain cum inside him again. He drops his voice down low. “Are you sure?”

“Unfortunately,” he snaps.

A smile splits over Sylvain’s lips and he pulls Felix in for a kiss, not caring who saw, even if Felix prefers they keep a lower profile. But how can Sylvain resist. Felix, _his Felix_ is pregnant with their child. Nothing can take him away from Sylvain now.

He laughs when Felix shoves him away, managing to keep a protective arm around his waist. “Don’t be mad at me, Fe,” he pleads. “I really didn’t lie to you. Those herbal mixtures aren’t one hundred percent effective, you can ask Manuela.”

Felix’s glare softens. He sighs, staring forlornly down at his stomach. “What are we going to do?”

Sylvain hugs him tighter to his side, nuzzling against his neck. “We’ll figure it out together,” he promises. And Felix, he thinks to himself, is all his. Sylvain couldn’t be happier.


End file.
